


Sybil Amell: The Hero of Ferelden

by emilythesmelly



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Some Sex, angry warden, from start to finish, mage rights for days, some darkspawn, some violence, the whole damn thing, the whole game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilythesmelly/pseuds/emilythesmelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil Amell will do anything to get out of the Circle, including joining the Grey Wardens. She and her companions must travel across Ferelden and, against all odds, slay the Archdemon and end the Fifth Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Harrowing

It is time.  With the moon overhead and the sun nowhere to be seen, I am summoned from my bed by templars.  On any other day, this would be terrifying.  I am calm, though, because I know why my jailers waken me.  
  
Tonight is my Harrowing.  
  
I follow them, silent so as not to awaken my fellow apprentices.  We walk up to the highest level of the Circle Tower.  Waiting there for me is First Enchanter Irving, Knight-Commander Greagoir, Cullen, and a few other templars that I recognize.  
  
"'Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him,'" Greagoir recites.  "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin."  
  
It is all I can do not to roll my eyes.   _My magic is serving no one locked up in this tower.  It is your fear of it that rules over you._  
  
"Your magic is a gift, but also a curse," Greagoir continues, "for demons of the dream realm - the Fade - are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."  
  
"This is why the Harrowing exists," Irving says.  "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."  
  
The details are kept secret from the apprentices, so this surprises me.  I am not worried, though.  I am better than any of the other apprentices, and I will be able to conquer this demon.  "I don't suppose there's another option?" I say, not out of fear, just out of practicality.  I'd rather do something easier.  
  
"There is Tranquility," Greagoir says without hesitation.  
  
"Is losing all you magic an option?" Irving asks.  "No, I have faith that you will succeed."  I nod.  
  
"Know this, apprentice; if you fail, we templars will perform our duty.  You will die."  As Greagoir says this, Cullen shift uncomfortably, then walks over to a cluster of templars on the other side of the room.  Greagoir then motions to a pedestal in the center of the room.  "This is lyrium: the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."  
  
"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child," Irivng says, putting a hand on my shoulder.  "Every mage must go through this trial by fire.  As we succeeded, so shall you.  Keep your wits about you and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams.  The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real."  
  
"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Greagoir cautions.  
  
There is a flash of anger in my chest.  It seems as if they _want_  me to become an abomination.  That's the only explanation I can think that would justify their aversion to the help Irving is trying to give me.  
  
I say nothing, though.  I care more about my life than the bloodthirstiness of the templars, unfortunately.  
  
"You are ready," the Knight-Commander says and motions again toward the lyrium.  
  
I nod and approach it.  There is a pool of glowing, blue liquid inside of the bowl atop the pedestal.  I reach out to touch it, and it starts to climb up my arm.  I back away in surprise, and suddenly the world goes white.  
  


***

My eyes shoot open, and I stand up quickly.  I look around in amazement.  "So this is the Fade," I say quietly aloud.

The sky is green.  The ground beneath my feet is spongey, and there are patches of grass that sway with a wind I cannot feel.  I am standing on an island, but one that floats in the sky rather than the ocean.  Ruins are scattered about, as well as gnarled trees.  A disturbing statue of a man with blades for hands stares down at me, and the Fade's reflection of the lyrium pedestal stands behind me.

There is only one way to go, so I begin walking forward.  A wisp wraith approaches and attacks, but my magic vanquishes it easily.  There are more on the meandering path, but my skills are sufficient.

A mouse sits i the path.  "Someone else thrown to the wolves," comes a voice, and I can only assume that the mouse is its owner.  "As fresh and unprepared as ever.  It isn't right that they do this, the templars.  Not to you, me, anyone."

"You are a talking rat," is the witty response I manage to come up with.

He laughs dryly.  "You think you're really here?  In that body?  You look like that because you _think_  you do!"  He sighs.  "It's always the same.  But it's not your fault.  You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?"  There is a flash of light, and the mouse transforms into a man in mage robes.  "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade.  You can call me... well, Mouse."

"Not your real name, I take it?" I say, folding my arms.  I'm not quite sure it was a good idea to trust a shape-shifting mouse in the Fade.

"No," he says.  "I don't remember anything from... before.  The templars kill you if you take too long, you see.  They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out.  That's what they did to me, I think.  I have no body to reclaim.  And you don't have much time before you end up the same."

I roll my eyes.  "That's not going to happen to me," I say confidently.  Any man who prefers the form of a mouse cannot be that good at anything other than hiding.  I know that I am better suited to this task that he ever could have been.

"That has been said before," he says.  "But you don't know the danger.  There's something here, contained, just for an apprentice like you."  He looks nervously over his shoulder.  "You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can.  That's your way out.  Or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you.  A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade."

I sigh and crack my knuckles casually.  "Anything can die.  I doubt it's as simple as that."

"You would be a fool to just attack everything you see," he cautions.  "What you face is powerful, cunning.  There are others here, other spirits.  They will tell you more, maybe help.  If you can believe anything you see.  I'll follow, if that's all right.  My chance was long ago, but you... you may have a way out."  He retakes the form of a rodent and follows behind me.

"Of course I have a way out," I mutter quietly.  I don't particularly want this dramatic, woe-is-me mouse on my heels, but I'd rather him where I can keep my eyes on him.

"A dangerous spirit is not far.  Don't go near it unless you're ready to fight," he cautions.

I should explore the Fade first, then approach whatever demon waits for me, so I heed Mouse's words and pass by an open area of Fade.  Another wisp wraith attacks me, and I start to get annoyed by these spirit pests.

"Another spirit this way," Mouse announces, and I look to my left.  Sure enough, atop a hill stands a translucent man in a suit of armor.  "It never seemed equal to its name to me."

I approach the spirit, sensibly cautious but not fearful.

"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see," he says.  "Your mages have devised a cowardly test.  Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, than to be sent unarmed against a demon."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms.  "Fight each other?  We're not warriors."  Rather, we are prisoners, kept obedient and afraid.  The templars do not trust us enough to allow us to be warriors.

"They would have you battle a demon," he continues.  "With magic or weapon, to be the victor makes you a warrior still.  That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter.  I wish you a glorious battle to come."

I glance behind him at the racks and racks of weapons, and I get an idea.  "Did you create all of these weapons?"

"They are brought into being by my will," he confirms.  "I understand that in your world, mages are the only ones who can will things into being.  Those mortals who cannot must lead such hollow, empty lives."

_I agree with you there,_  I think.  "Would one of these weapons affect the demon?"

"Without a doubt.  In this realm, everything that exists is the expression of a thought.  Do you think these blades be steel?  The staves be wood?  Do you believe they draw blood?  A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that need reality.  Do you truly desire one of my weapons?  I will give one to you... if you agree to duel me first.  Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested." 

"It seems you would prefer to kill me yourself," I say, taking a step toward him and narrowing my eyes.  I will play my part well and come out of this unscathed.  Valorous this spirit may be, but I am cunning.

"How dare you accuse me!" he protests immediately.  "I am no demon, preying upon helpless mortals to steal their essence!  I am a being of honor and valor!  I am a warrior!"

"Then prove it!" I challenge, getting quite close.  He seems like he would be solid if I touched him even though he is semi-transparent.  "Help me fight the demon!"

"You are insolent," he snarls, "but your will is unquestionably strong.  Very well, mortal.  You prove to me that you possess the strength to resist this demon."  He turns around and takes a staff off one of his racks.  Handing it to me, he says, "Go, prove your worth as you must.  I am confident you will succeed."

I nod.  "I shall."

Staff in hand, I continue down the path.  Three spirit wolves materialize.  They give me more trouble than the wisp wraiths did, but my new staff gives me the strength I need.

"Be cautious," Mouse warns.  "There is another spirit here.  Not the one hunting you, but still..."  I see a large form in the path ahead.

"I am not afraid," I assure him and approach the demon.

It is a large, bear-like figure but corrupted sitting at the end of the path.  The skin is mottled and mostly lacking in fur.  Spikes that look like bones protrude from his body at odd angles.  He barely raises his head when he speaks to me.  "Hmm... so you are the mortal being hunted?  And the small one... is he to be a snack for me?"

Mouse takes human form and says, "I don't like this.  He's not going to help us.  We should go..."

The demon sniffs.  "No matter.  The demon will get you eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left."

"What kind of spirit are you?" I ask.

"It's a demon," Mouse says.  "Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you."

"Begone!  Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal.  I tire of you already."

_And I tire of this place already._   "I need help defeating a demon," I say, taking a step forward.

"You have a very nice staff."  Sloth yawns.  "Why would you need me?  Go, use your weapon since you have earned it.  Be valorous."

"He looks powerful," Mouse says almost hungrily.  "It might be possible that he could... teach you to be like him."

I raise an eyebrow.  I am about to say, "useless and boring," but Sloth speaks before I am able.

"Like me?  You mean teach the mortal t take this form?  Why?  Most mortals are too attached to their forms to learn the change.  You, ont he other hand, little one, might be a better student.  You let go of the human form years ago."

"I... don't think I'd make a very good bear," Mouse stammers.  "How would I hide?"

I groan.  "I thought you were here to help, but you're just a coward."

"A coward could not have endured as I have," he replies with a ferocity that surprises me.  "The time I have spent waiting for... for some possibility of release.  But... you are right.  Hiding doesn't help.  I'm sorry, it's the Fade.  It changes you.  I'll try.  I'll try to be a bear.  If you'll teach me."

I smirk inwardly.  I have convinced him successfully.

"That's nice.  But teaching is so exhausting.  Away with you now," Sloth says, closing his eyes.

Mouse sighs.  "I told you he wasn't going to help us."

_Oh no you don't_. _I didn't listen to all that to gain no advantage!_   "You can't just suggest something and then change your mind!"

"I can't?  You have so much to learn about the Fade, little mortal."

I step forward and grit my teeth.  "Mouse wants to learn.  Teach him."

"You wish to learn my form, little one?  Then I have a challenge for your friend: Answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach you.  Fail, and I will devour you both.  The decision is yours."

I scoff, fully confident that I am smart enough to solve any riddle that this demon might throw my way.  "I accept your challenge, Sloth."

"Truly?  This gets more and more promising.  My first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land.  What am I?"

"A map," I say immediately.

He _hmphs_.  "Correct.  Let's move on.  The second riddle: I'm rarely touched, but often held.  If you have wit, you'll use me well.  What am I?"

"A tongue," I say confidently.

"Yes, your witty tongue.  Fair enough.  One more try, shall we?  Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee.  I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me.  What am I?"

This gives me pause, but not for too long.  "A dream," I say.

He grumbles again.  "You are correct.  Rather apropros here in the Fade, no?  But you've won my challenge and proven yourself a amusing distraction.  So, I shall teach you my form."

I lean back and listen as Sloth tries to teach Mouse.  It does not come easy to the meek spirit.

_How long have I been here_? I wonder.  Time may move differently in the Fade, as it feels to do in everyday dreams.

Finally, Mouse is able to change his form.  "Like this?  Am I a bear?  It feels... heavy."

Sloth appraises Mouse's kosher form, devoid of spikes or decay and says, "Hmm, close enough.  Go, then, and defeat your demon... or whatever you intend to do.  I grow weary of your mortal prattling."

"I suppose it is time," I say, knowing that there is nothing else here for me to see.  I turn back and head for the area that I know the demon waits in.  Four spirit wolves attack, but Mouse and I defeat them without incident.  His new form is much more useful than his old one.

The demon appears as I approach.  It is a rage demon, and it looks like lava.  "And so it comes to me at last," it says with a deep voice.  "Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature.  You shall be mine, body and soul."

He does not frighten me.  "Then come get me, if you can."  My new staff and my companion's new form give me confidence.

"Oh, I shall.  So this creature is your offering, Mouse?  Another plaything, as per our arrangement?"

"I'm not offering you anything!" he protests quickly.  "I don't have to help you anymore!"

"Aww, and after all those wonderful meals we shared?  Now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?"

There is contradiction in their exchange, but it doesn't surprise me.  I have been looking at Mouse with suspicion from the beginning, when he asserted his tale of injustice while simultaneously claiming to remember nothing of life in the real world.  Now this demon mentions shared meals?  Nothing about this adds up.

"I'm not a mouse now!  And soon I won't have to hide!  I don't need to bargain with you!"

"We shall see," the demon says.

He attacks, Mouse transforms into a bear, and I try to keep an eye on both spirits while focusing my attacks on the rage demon.  It is a harder fight than any of the others in the Fade so far, but my familiarity with the spell Winter's Grasp is extremely helpful.  It's cold nature combats the fiery rage of the demon.

One final spell and the demon fades away.  Mouse retakes human form and turns to me with a grin on his face.  "You did it!  You actually did it!  When you came, I hoped that you might be able to... but I never really thought any of you were worthy."

"The ones you betrayed before me.  What were their names?" I ask, folding my arms.

"What?  They were not as promising as you.  It was a long time ago.  I... I don't remember their names.  I don't even remember my own name!" he stutters.  "It's the Fade, and the templars killing me, like they tried with you."

I don't know what has happened to my body in the real world, but I am certain that this is a lie.  Or at least a wild stab in the dark.  If even _I_  do not know, Mouse absolutely cannot.  "So what is it you think you can get from me?"

"You defeated a demon, you completed your test.  With time, you'll be a master enchanter with no equal.  And maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and as... forgotten as me.  If you want to help."

_Here it comes_.  I try not to let my apathy show on my face.

"There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside.  You just need to want to let me in."

"Not my problem, Mouse," I say, and turn to leave.

"No, no, no!" he says quickly, grabbing my arm.  "It must be your choice.  Quickly now, the templars are going to kill you!"  He must sense that I am not at all convinced.  "Can't you feel the sword at your neck?  They believe all magic is evil, the Fade is evil.  Once you are here, you become what they fear."

_I am already what they fear._   "Like you.  Were you ever really an apprentice?"

"What?  Yes!  Of course!  I mean, I think I was.  Isn't that enough?  It should be enough.  For you."  His face suddenly contorts with anger.  "Maybe they are right about you.  Simple killing is a warrior's job.  The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust... pride."  Mouse transforms into a giant demon and looks down at me.  "Keep your wits about you, mage.  True tests _never_  end."


	2. Scheming

"Are you alright?  Say something, please..."  
  
It is Jowan's voice beside me.  I must be in my bunk, waking now that the Harrowing is complete.  I decide to scare the shit out of him.  I spring up to a sitting position.  "A demon!  Die, demon!"  
  
"It's me, Jowan!  Calm down.  Just... try to relax."  
  
I smirk and he rolls his eyes, seeing the joke.  Jowan is my only friend in the Circle.  He was the first person to show me any kindness when I arrived, ripped from my family and told that I was a danger to everyone around me.  We were both children, children that believed we were broken.  The Maker couldn't possibly have _meant_  to make us these dangerous mages.  We were kids together, pulling harmless pranks and having fun.  I grew up first.  Magic came to me more easily than it did to him, and I saw more clearly than he did the oppressive gaze of the templars.  
  
I am worried about Jowan now.  He's been behaving strangely recently, and I am afraid he's done something incredibly stupid.  Now that I have completed my Harrowing and am no longer an apprentice, I cannot risk getting wrapped up in it.  
  
"I'm glad you're alright," Jowan says, happy to see that his friend is back after the mysterious Harrowing.  "They carried you in this morning.  I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night.  I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings."  I hear his unspoken words.  There was a chance that he would never see me again, and he never even got to say goodbye.  He pulls himself away from such thoughts.  "Is it really that dangerous?  What was it like?"  
  
I sigh.  "Stop pestering me, Jowan."  He knows that I cannot tell him anything about the Harrowing.  The templars would have my head.  
  
"Hmph.  So much for friendship," he says teasingly.  "I'll leave you alone, then.  And now you get to move into the nice mages' quarters upstairs.  I'm stuck here, and I don't know when they'll call me for _my_  Harrowing."  
  
I can see where he is trying to lead me, and that frightens me.  "I've passed my test; that's all I care about," I say in hopes of dissuading him from whatever he's planning.  
  
"Oh.  I see," he says, and I can tell he is disappointed.  "I've been here longer than you have.  Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."  
  
"You're just paranoid," I say, and (ironically) I look around quickly to see if there are templars nearby.  Thankfully, there are none.  
  
"No, I'm afraid of what will happen to me," he persists.  "You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility... or you die.  That's what happens."  
  
"You worry too much.  It's annoying."  
  
"I shouldn't waste your time with this," he finally says, and my body relaxes.  "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."  
  
I nod.  "I should go talk to him immediately."  
  
"You'd better not keep him waiting.  We can speak later."  Jowan walks away.  
  
I remain sitting for a few moments more, collecting my thoughts and putting my emotions in check.  Jowan will definitely get into trouble.  Big trouble.  Maybe even Tranquil trouble.  I _cannot_  get mixed up in that.  
  
As I sit, breathing slowly and evenly, I hear two women talking on the other side of the room.  "Did you hear anything?  Is she alright?  Is she awake?"  I recognize her voice.  Her name is Helena.  
  
"Why do _you_  care?" another woman - Anais - says.  "Are you best friends now?"  
  
"I'm just curious!  That templar Cullen said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he'd ever seen!  He says she's very talented and very brave."  
  
"Well he _would_ , wouldn't he?" Anais replies hotly.  
  
I sigh.  Cullen is a templar here at the Circle.  He is not much older than myself, and it is painfully obvious that he has a crush on me.  Even had I been interested, a healthy relationship between a templar and a mage could never work, the power dynamics skewed too monumentally to be safe and comfortable.  I am not remotely interested in him, and I am forever thankful that he has not made any advances.  I _think_  he understands the imbalance of power and recognizes how unjust it would be to ask anything of me in such a situation, but it may just be that he is shy.  I cannot tell for sure, and I certainly shall not ask.  
  
It is not unheard of for templars to take what they want from mages in such a fashion.  Templars hold all the power, and it would be suicide (or, similarly, Tranquility) to deny one.  
  
I am lucky that such a sacrifice has not been asked of me.  
  
"I just know I'll be terrified when my time comes.  Like Wendell was!  He threw up every day for the next week just thinking about it."  
  
At this, I get up and walk away.  First Enchanter Irving's office is on the floor above me, the same floor that I will move to now that I have completed my Harrowing and am no longer an apprentice.  I pass through the library and see apprentices practicing various spells.  It has always seemed foolish to me that the library was not a designated quiet space.  
  
Upstairs, I walk past the stockroom.  In the hall, I see Cullen.  I walk his way, as Irving's office is beyond him.  I force a small smile out of courtesy.  
  
"Oh, um, h-hello," he says, smiling awkwardly.  "I... uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly."  
  
"Why are you stuttering?" I ask, trying not to be overly rude, but hoping that my attitude may lessen his affection.  
  
"What?" he says with a defensive chuckle, pretending like he hadn't noticed.  "I-I'm fine.  I... uh, I'm just glad you're alright.  You know."  
  
A pang of bitterness strikes me.  "I thought all templars liked killing mages."  Cullen may not particularly deserve this criticism, but I feel little guilt over its utterance.  
  
"Maybe some, but not me.  It's my duty to hunt down apostate mages, but... I do so with a heavy heart."  
  
_So you're sorry you have to kill people for wanted to live freely with the gifts the Maker gave them?_  I think, but I bite my tongue.  I remember Irving and say, "I've no more time to discuss this."  
  
"Uh... uh, yes.  Maybe we can talk another time."  
  
All I can manage is a nod.  A noncommittal gesture that will allow me to leave with no further conversation.  I hear him heave a large sigh when he thinks I am too far away to hear.  
  
Irving's office is not far now.  When I get there, I see that he is not alone.  
  
"...many have already gone to Ostagar - Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages!  We've committed enough of our own to this war effort-" Greagoir is saying.  He is standing with Irving and a man that I do not recognize.  
  
"Your own?" Irving repeats with a laugh.  "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir?  Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?"  
  
"How dare you suggest-"  
  
"Gentlemen, please," the other man says.  "Irving, someone is here to see you."  
  
"What's going on?" I ask as they all turn to me.  
  
"Nothing concerning you at this moment," Irving says, taking a step toward me.  "Come, child."  
  
"This is..." the unknown man begins.  
  
"Yes, this is she," Irving confirms.  
  
"Well, Irving," Greagoir says uncomfortably.  "You're obviously busy.  We will discuss this later."  
  
"Of course," Irving agrees as the Knight-Commander leaves the room.  "Well, then... where was I?  Oh, yes.  This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."  
  
"What's he doing here?"  I have heard of the approaching Blight, and I wonder why a Grey Warden would be here in the Circle rather than closer to the battlefield.  This bodes well for no one.  
  
"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect?  Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."  
  
"Why?"  Is it not the general assumption that we are dangerous too?  Who would fight alongside mages?  
  
"Mages are uniquely equipped to combat darkspawn," Duncan explains.  
  
"Darkspawn are a dwarven problem."  The creatures live in the Deep Roads, and it is the dwarves who have to deal with them.  
  
"They have formed into a horde in the Korcari Wilds and threaten to invade north into the valley.  I fear if we don't drive them back, we may see another Blight."  
  
"Duncan, you worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and darkspawn," Irving interrupts.  "This is a happy day for her."  
  
"We live in troubled times, my friend," is the Warden's response.  
  
"We should seize moments of levity, _especially_  in troubled times.  The Harrowing is behind you.  Your phylactery was sent to Denerim.  You are officially a mage within the  Circle of Magi."  
  
I feel no joy at this.  "My leash, you mean."  The words come out before I can stop them.  I am lucky that Greagoir is gone.  
  
"Now, child, it's not that bad."  
  
"I'm sorry," Duncan cuts in, "what is this phylactery?"  
  
"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials," Irving explains.  
  
"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate," Duncan infers.  
  
"We have few choices.  The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear.  We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly."  Irving turns to me.  "You have done this.  I present you your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia.  Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."  
  
"That's all I get?" I ask, thoroughly underwhelmed.  
  
"Joining the Circle is a reward as well.  You will realize this one day.  It goes without saying that you will not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite.  Now then... take some time to rest, or study in the library.  The day is yours."  
  
_If I can do anything..._   "Can I leave the tower?"  
  
"Not yet.  Remember, the tower's walls protect us as much as they protect others from us."  
  
"I will return to my quarters," Duncan announces.  
  
"Would you be so kind as to escort Duncan back to his room, child?" Irving asks.  
  
"Does Duncan not know where his quarters are?" I reply dryly.  
  
"Being difficult, are we?"  Irving raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.  "You are an apprentice no longer; I expect you to set a good example."  
  
"Oh, all right."  
  
"The guest quarters are on the east side of this floor, close to the library.  Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Greagoir."  
  
I sigh and turn to the Grey Warden.  "This way."  I walk to the guest quarters without speaking. I motion to the room without entering.  
  
"Thank you for escorting me," Duncan says with a nod.  
  
I turn to leave, and before I can wonder what to do with the rest of my day I see Jowan.  
  
"I'm glad I caught up to you," he says.  I am still worried about what plan he's been concocting, but there is nothing I can do just now.  "Are you done talking with Irving?"  
  
I squint and raise an eyebrow.  "Were you following me?"  
  
"Does it really matter?" he replies with a half-hearted grin.  "Do you remember what we discussed this morning?"  
  
"Can this wait?" I ask, hoping to avoid this mess altogether.  
  
"No.  Please, I need you to listen."  He looks nervously from side to side.  "We should go somewhere else.  I don't feel safe talking here."  
  
"You'd better not be wasting my time."  Nothing I say is dissuading him.  
  
"It won't take long, I promise."  I follow him into the chapel.  He goes and stands next to a Lay Sister.  She has short, brown hair and brown eyes.  "We should be safe here."  
  
"All this skulking about is rather excessive," I say.  
  
"I apologize," the Sister says.  "But Jowan must be careful... especially now."  
  
I sigh.  "Jowan, what's going on here?"  
  
"A few months ago, I told you that I... met a girl.  This is Lily."  
  
I honestly thought he'd been joking.  Apparently not, though.  "My condolences, Lily."  
  
"Very funny," Jowan says with a playful scowl.  
  
"So what is this all about?"  
  
"Remember when I said that I didn't think they wanted to give me my Harrowing?" he begins.  "I know why.  They're... going to make me tranquil.  They'll take everything that I am from me - my dreams, hopes, fears... My love for Lily.  All gone."  
  
"And what does this have to do with me?" I ask as coldly as I can.  
  
"I need to escape," he says urgently.  "I need to destroy my phylactery.  Without it, they can't track me down.  We need your help.  Lily and I can't do this on our own."  
  
"Give us your word that you will help and we will tell you what we intend," Lily says.  
  
"I can't be involved in this," I say strongly.  "Sorry."  I turn to leave.  
  
"You're... you're just walking away?" Jowan asks in disbelief.  I cannot look at him.  
  
"It's alright, Jowan," Lily assures him, though her tone betrays her true thoughts.  "There's always a way.  We must have faith.  I understand your reluctance and I can only beg you won't violate our trust."  
  
I still do not look at them.  "We'll see," I force out.  "My first allegiance is to the Circle."  
  
"Our lives depend on your silence," Lily says.  "Pretend we never spoke.  And if you can find it in your heart, wish us luck and pray for us."  
  
I walk briskly away from the two doomed lovers and out of the chapel.  As soon as I am out in the hallway, my strength fails.  I fall against the wall, and I feel like I am suffocating.  My best and only friend is going to get himself killed or made tranquil without a doubt.  There is no possible way that his plan will succeed.  And now, he has dragged me into it.  I am as culpable if I do nothing than if I were to actually help, and I know that I will be made tranquil when they are caught as well.  I _cannot_  lose all that I am.  There is nothing in the world that frightens me as much as tranquility.  
  
"Sybil?" I hear coming down the hall.  As if my panic was not already enough, Cullen sees me in my current state.  "Maker's breath, are you alright?"  
  
There is a reason that I have become the way that I am.  Any emotion might be seen as a precursor to possession by a templar.  Upset mages take drastic measures.  I shove my anxiety down, my whole body taught with tension but my face and voice relatively calm.  "I need to speak with First Enchanter Irving," I say, pushing past him.  
  
"I-is it something I can help with?" he asks, and even though he is genuinely trying to be kind I cannot ignore the rage I feel at his words.  
  
_It is because of you and yours that I am in this mess_ , I think bitterly.  My words are more sedate.  "No, thank you."  
  
With that I leave him and hurry into Irving's office.  "Ah, there you are," he says with a warm smile.  "I ran into Duncan.  You seemed to make a good impression; he was pleased to have met you."  
  
"His opinion means nothing to me," I say honestly.  In my present state I have forgotten about the Grey Warden.  
  
"You should speak to him more if you get the chance.  He's a wise and learned man," he says.  His face shifts to a more serious expression.  "Now, you haven't seen your friend Jowan since this morning, have you?"  
  
This worries me.  How much does he already know?  "Why, is my social life of interest to you?"  
  
"I wanted to know if he was feeling... all right.  He seemed nervous when I spoke to him.  He avoided my gaze and seemed ready to bolt.  You wouldn't know what brought about this behavior, would you?"  
  
_I'm so sorry, Jowan_.  "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."  
  
"Well, I'm here now.  Tell me what this is about."  
  
"Jowan says he is going to be made tranquil."  The words hurt, each syllable a betrayal.   _It's him or me_ , I keep trying to remind myself.  It is of little comfort.  
  
"And I presume his lover, Lily, told him about this?  Yes, I've known for some time.  Now, I know Jowan discussed something with you today.  What did he say?"  
  
"He's trying to destroy his phylactery," I admit.  
  
"I could simply report Jowan to the templars, but Lily has also broken her vows and must face like consequences.  For this, we need irrefutable proof of her crime.  The Chantry will stand behind her, claiming she has been framed or is in the thrall of a blood mage.  There must be no doubt in their minds that she helped him voluntarily."  
  
"What does this have to do with me?" I ask, a sense of dread forming in my stomach as I guess what he is going to ask of me.  
  
"Tell Jowan and Lily that you will aid them.  Help them enter the repository, if that is what they intend.  We will catch them red-handed.  No one will be able to dispute the severity of their crimes."  
  
I swallow hard and say, "That's beyond the call of duty.  What's in it for me?"  I am hoping for some peace of mind, hoping that I will be awarded a respite from worrying about templars.  
  
"No charge from me is beyond your duty to this Circle," Irving responds with surprising force.  "Remember your place.  You must obey this order.  Go.  Convince them you will risk all for their cause.  I will be outside the repository with a contingent of templars.  Let them see the mischief into which their initiate led our student.  Perform well, and your dedication will be rewarded."  
  
I nod reluctantly and walk back to the chapel.  I take a deep breath to steady myself and walk back over to my friend.  
  
"If you're not going to help, leave me alone," Jowan says coldly.  
  
"Forgive Jowan; he can be surly," Lily says quickly.  "But why have you returned?  Please say you've changed your mind."  
  
"What do I get out of helping you?" I ask, trying to make my change of heart believable.  
  
"The joy of helping a friend?  The satisfaction of knowing you prevented a gross injustice?" Jowan suggests.  
  
"The repository holds more than phylacteries," Lily adds.  "Join us, and the artifacts will be yours for the taking."  
  
"Aren't you sick and tired of the Circle running your life?  You could get out of here with us," Jowan suggests.  
  
_Nothing could be better than escaping this prison forever, Jowan.  Believe me_.  "My phylactery has been taken to Denerim.  I'm still trapped."  
  
"You'll be out of here and gone before they can even dispatch a messenger to the city.  You're talented and clever.  You could take your phylactery back from your hunters, if you wish.  You have so much power.  Once you're free... they wouldn't be able to stop you."  This is definitely tempting.  It's possible that I could do it, too, but not likely.  
  
"Then I give you my word," I say.  
  
"Thank you," Lily says feelingly.  "We will never forget this."


	3. The Repository

"This had better be a good plan," I say, folding my arms and looking at Lily and Jowan expectantly.  
  
"I can get us into the repository.  But there is a problem," Lily says.  "There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door.  The first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one key.  But it is just a door.  There is enough power in this place to destroy all of Ferelden.  What is a door to mages?"  
  
I groan inwardly.  "It can't be that easy."  There's no way that it would be.  If it was, more mages would do it.  
  
"What if it is?" Jowan protests.  "We have to try.  I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock.  You could get one fromt he stockroom.  But Owain doesn't release such things to apprentices."  
  
"Let's not waste more time, then," I say with a nod.  
  
"We should stay here," Lily says to Jowan.  "One mage at the stockroom will attract less attention than a mage, an apprentice, and an initiate."  
  
"Yes, you'd only slow me down."  
  
"Good luck.  Our prayers go with you."  
  
I turn and walk away from the two lovers, who embrace each other.  I leave the chapel and head for the stockroom, and I still feel sick to my stomach.  I am disgusted with myself for my cowardice.  I wish I was strong enough to _really_  help my friend.  
  
I am not, though.  I care too much about being alive and myself to bother being someone respectable.  
  
For the third time today, I see Cullen.  The Circle is small, and everyone knows everyone, but this is excessive.  It is unusual for this much unplanned interaction in a day.   _Just my luck_.  I am in control of myself now, though, and will be able to divert suspicion much more easily.  
  
His eyes are still full of concern.  He excuses himself from the group of templars he's talking to and walks over.  "I- umm, are you alright?"  He is fiddling nervously with his hands.  
  
I nod, and the lies roll off my tongue with surprising ease.  "I'm sorry.  The Harrowing left me... worse off than I thought.  I am alright now."  
  
His eyes search my face, and I can see how badly he wishes he were able to comfort me.  "Are-are you sure?"  He pauses.  "I know you aren't supposed discuss the Harrowing with anyone who hasn't yet undergone it, but I'm a templar, so you could talk to me."  My face must show how little I like this idea because he quickly backtracks.  "You don't have to, of course!  It's just- I mean, sometimes talking about things helps."  
  
I take a deep breath to keep something unnecessarily unkind from spewing out.  Cullen isn't willfully malicious; he's just dumb.  I know that his concern for me is genuine, but I really wish he would just keep it to himself.  I am not interested in his body or his concern.  "Thank you for the offer, but I have spoken with First Enchanter Irving already, and I feel much better.  I _also_  have things to do."  
  
He blushes.  "O-of course!  I will not detain you."  He returns to the other templars, and I go to the stockroom.  
  
The Tranquil is standing in front, looking off into the distance.  I approach and look into his hollow eyes, shuddering slightly.  
  
"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items.  My name is Owain.  How may I assist you?" he asks in a monotone voice.  
  
"I need a rod of fire," I say without hesitation.  I am no longer an apprentice; I should be able to request anything I choose from the stockroom.  Though, upon further consideration, I doubt that my tone even registers with the Tranquil.  
  
"Rods of fire serve many purposes.  Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?"  
  
"I need the rod for my research into... burning things," I lie and grown inwardly about how dumb I sound.  
  
He turns around and grabs a piece of paper from the desk behind him.  "Here is the form - 'Request for Rod of Fire.'  Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter.  I will release a rod to you once I have the signed form."  
  
I sigh.  "Why can't you give it to me now?" I ask.  Isn't the fact that I've completed my Harrowing enough to earn me some trust in this prison?  
  
"It is procedure.  I need a senior mage's authorization to release an item.  Thank you."  
  
I sigh and walk away.   _Irving will sign it, I'm sure.  He's already signed off on this ridiculous scheme._   On my way to his office, though, I pass the laboratory and something catches my eye.  There's an elf pacing back and forth, her expression tense.  She's blonde and slender, and her robes signify that she is a senior enchanter.  
  
I cannot resist.  I have to know what is happening.  I approach her slowly.  
  
"Yes?" she asks.  
  
"Can you sign this form for me?" I ask, showing her the parchment in my hand.  It seems a good an introduction as any that I might concoct.  
  
"Rod of fire?  No, I'm not signing this.  I don't know what you need it for and I barely know you.  Ask someone else."  
  
I shrug.   _It was worth a try._   "What's that door over there?" I ask, motioning to the door that she's been pacing in front of.  
  
"That leads to the Circle's cavern store-rooms," she explains.  "There are caves running through the rock that the Circle is built upon.  But of course, you know this."  
  
I did.  "Do you have rods of fire in there?" I ask, thinking to bypass the bullshit with Owain altogether.  
  
"No, that's something the Tranquil deal in.  This store-room is for raw magical materials and alchemical substances.  Lyrium, basilisk blood, and so on."  
  
There may be something else in there that can help.  "Can you unlock the door for me?"  
  
"No," she says quickly, a bit of panic in her voice.  "I can't let anyone in there just now."  
  
I've struck a nerve.  "Why?"  Maybe this is just the bit of leverage I need to get this rod of fire.  
  
She sighs.  "There are just... things... in there that I would prefer to keep... safe."  
  
"Are you stealing from the Circle's stores?" I ask incredulously, happy that this will work as excellent blackmail if it is true.  
  
"No!  Of course not!  I just have...  I...  I am in the midst of checking inventory.  And I... can't let anyone in there in case they... mess things up.  Yes."  
  
A lie.  "So why are you out here and not in there?"  
  
"Because I am taking a break.  I hate the musty smell of caves and I..."  She sighs, giving up.  "Look, I'll tell you the truth, just keep it to yourself."  She leans in.  "There is an infestation of spiders in the caves.  I don't know how they got in there but it's probably my fault.  I was promoted to senior enchanter less than a fortnight ago and I don't want anyone to find out.  They'll think I'm incompetent!"  
  
I shrug nonchalantly.  "If you sign this form, I'll deal with the spiders."  
  
"Oh, your form for the rod of fire?  Yes, I could do that, if you clear out the infestation."  
  
"All right, I'll do it."  I ready my staff.  
  
"Wonderful!  Here is the key.  Oh, and be careful in there.  I'd really like to keep the damage done to the Circle's property to a minimum."  
  
I take the key from her and head into the store-room.  There's a vial of lyrium dust in a broken crate, and I stick it in my pocket.   _Why not_?  Another chest has a lyrium potion and a necklace, and I take them both.  I may need some lyrium to deal with these spiders.  
  
There's a fork in the cavern, and I go right.  A spider larger than I am hisses and descends from the ceiling.  I hurl magic at it and narrowly avoid its venomous pincers.  It dies, and I continue on.  The next fight occurs at a four-way intersection further in.  This time there are two.  It is a tougher fight, and they land a couple hits on me.  
  
I am enthralled.  One thing about living in the Circle is that your life lacks purpose.  You train as an apprentice to pass your Harrowing.  Then you train as a mage to become a senior enchanter.  Then, if you're exceptionally talented (as well as obedient) and there is an opening, you can become first enchanter of your Circle.  If you are the best mage Ferelden has to offer, you may become the grand enchanter.  None of these positions come with any real power.  Occasionally, there is a war and the king asks for mage soldiers, but not often.  
  
Down here, though, fighting these spiders that that wonderfully incompetent senior enchanter let in, I have purpose.  I can use my magic for something tangible.  Something beyond the theoretical, fear-mongering bullshit.  
  
Wistfully, I wish that Jowan's plan wasn't doomed.  I wish that I _could_ have tracked down the pursuing templars and destroyed my phylactery.  A life in hiding out there would be better than a life of slavery in here.  
  
I continue on through the caves.  Another spider attacks at a left-hand turn, and two appear at the next four-way intersection.  Two descend from the ceiling before I make my next left turn, and one meets me down that path.  
  
I continue on until I return to where I started.   _That must be all of them_.  I'm a little sad to be finished this task.  I greatly enjoyed being down here and getting my hands dirty.  I sigh and proceed through the door, back into the laboratory.  
  
The senior enchanter sees me exit and scurries up to me.  "You're back!  Are the spiders gone?"  
  
I nod.  "I've dealt with your infestation."  
  
Her face lights up.  I'm sad that I've never seen her around before this because, without the lines of worry, her face is very pretty.  "Oh, wonderful!  You're a life-saver.  Now where was that form you wanted me to sign?"  
  
I take the form from my pocket.  "Here it is."  
  
"Right..."  She takes it and puts it down on the table to sign.  "There you go.  How's that?"  
  
"It'll do," I say, and I bitterly remember what I need the rod for.  
  
"It was a pleasure," she says.  "You'll go far in the Circle, I bet."  
  
I turn away and roll my eyes.   _Yeah, because I want to go far in the Circle.  Because I want to be in charge of the systematic oppression that Circles represent_.  I walk back over to Owain.  "Welcome to the Circle's stocckroom of magical items.  My name is Owain.  How may I assist you?" he asks, and I shiver a bit thinking about how little must register in the mind of a Tranquil.  
  
"Here's the signed form for the rod of fire," I say, handing it to him.  
  
He scans it quickly and says, "Everything looks to be in order."  He disappears into the stockroom for a few moments and comes back holding the rod.  "Here's the rod you requested."  
  
I take the rod from him and leave.  The sooner I can be done with this horrible day, the better.  I return to Jowan and Lily.  "I hate waiting.  It makes me nervous," I hear him saying to Lily as I approach.  
  
"I have the rod of fire," I announce.  
  
"That was quick!" Jowan replies in surprise.  
  
"To the repository, then," Lily says.  "Freedom awaits."  
  
The three of us head downstairs and into the basement.  No one takes notice of us, and for that I am grateful.  In the basement, we come upon a door.  
  
"The Chantry calls this entrance 'the Victims' door.'  It is built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original templar," Lily explains.  
  
 _I can't wait to burn it down, then_ , I think with a grin.  Jowan catches my eye and sees me fiddling with the rod of fire.  He catches on and grins back.  
  
"It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose," she continues, and my lip curls up in a snarl.  
  
"It looks just like any other door," I admit, crossing my arms.  
  
"The doors can be opened only by a templar and a mage, entering together.  The Chantry provides the password, which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana, to release it."  
  
My brows furrow.  "Since you have the password, can't Jowan help you enter?"  It seems like I didn't have to be a part of this.  
  
"The ward only responds to the touch of one who has been through the Harrowing," she explains.  
  
I glare at Jowan, realizing he's been waiting to ambush me with this request the moment I completed my Harrowing.  He looks at me sheepishly.  "So what must I do?"  
  
"First the password..."  Lily turns to the door and holds out her arm.  "'Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade.'"  
  
A pretty short password.  But it works.  I can feel the magic on the door reacting.  "Is that it?  Can we enter now?"  
  
"The password only primes the door.  Now it must feel the touch of mana.  Any spell will do, but hurry."  
  
I let my magic surge through me.  It hits the door, and the paling fades.  The door swings open, and we cautiously walk through.  There's another door in front of us.  
  
"Do you have the rod with you?  Melt the locks off!" Jowan urges in anticipation.  
  
I nod and grasp the rod tightly.  I allow my mana to pulse through me, but nothing happens.  
  
"What's the matter?" Lily asks in horror.  "Why isn't it working?"  
  
"Maybe the rod's broken," I say with a shrug.  
  
"Lily," Jowan says slowly, "something's not right.  I... can't cast spells here.  Nothing works."  
  
I feel it too.  My magic sits just under my skin but cannot find a way into the world.  
  
Lily frantically examines the door.  "These wards carved into the stone... this must be the templars' work.  They negate any magic cast within this area.  I should have guessed!  Why would Greagoir and Irving use simple keys for such a door?  Because magical keys don't work!  How do you keep mages away from something?  Make their powers completely worthless!  That's it then!  We're finished!  We can't get in."  
  
I sigh deeply.  Looking around, I notice another door down the hallway to our right.  "That door there, where does it lead?"  
  
"I don't know," Lily admits.  "Do you think it's another way in?"  
  
"That door probably leads to another part of the repository," Jowan says.  "What are the chances of there being another entrance?"  
  
"Or we could just forget this foolishness and leave," I say, hoping that maybe, if we leave and abandon this doomed venture, my friend will escape punishment.  
  
"No!" Lily protests firmly.  "We can't get into the chamber the way we planned, but we're not about to give up.  We can see where this door leads, but I don't think it'll be easy... it looks locked, for one."  
  
"The rod will work on _those_  locks, shouldn't it?" I suggest.  
  
"Yes," Lily agrees.  "Let's hope they haven't warded that door as well."  
  
"Let's hurry..." Jowan suggests.  "We've wasted enough time."  We head toward the door and Jowan says resolutely, "I'm not giving up.  We've come too far."  
  
I pull the rod of fire back out and point it at the lock.  This time, though, my magic is not suppressed.  Flames erupt from the tip of the wand, and the lock, after a few moments under the hot blue flame, melts away.  As the door pops open, the suit of armor in the hallway behind us, a piece that I'd barely noticed, begin to move.  
  
"Oh, that's not good," Jowan says, and we brace for battle.  The three of us - Jowan and I with our magic and Lily with a dagger - are easily victorious.  "Are you alright?" Jowan asks hurriedly, moving toward Lily as soon as the suit of armor falls to the ground.  
  
She smiles at him.  "Yes, thank you."  
  
They're idiots.  Everything about their relationship is a horrible idea.  This escape plan will never work, and they will be caught and separated.  Even if they'd decided to stay in the Circle as a secret, they'd have been caught eventually.  
  
And yet, my heart still aches when I see the way that they look at each other.  I've been with a couple people, but it has only ever been skin deep.  We've always known that deep, emotional attachments are suicide for mages.  The templars fear mages who have something to lose.  
  
We press on.  Through the door and around the corner, more sentinels come to life.  The rush of excitement is like that in the store-rooms.  It's only been an afternoon of excitement, yet I am dreading the return to the meaningless life of a Circle Mage.  How do the mages that fight in the army handle it?  
  
There is a door to my left, unlocked.  I step inside.  There's very little in here that is of note.  Bookshelves and stacks of books are all about, but nothing that strikes my fancy.  There is another room further down the hall, and it is much the same.  
  
There's another door at the end of this hallway, and more sentinels on the other side of it.  When they fall lifeless to the ground, I look at my companions.  They are still on-edge.  Jowan tries to muster a smile, but his usual optimism is missing.  I nod with what I hope will be encouragement, and proceed through the next door.  
  
Here, two sentinels and the spirit of a mage wait for us.  Lily surprises me bu cutting off the head of one of the sentinels.   _Maybe they aren't as hopeless as I thought_.  Jowan looks at her with an odd mix of pride and fear.  
  
Another door.  Much to my surprise, deep stalkers wait for us in here.  They are weak, but there are many of them.  Different tactics are necessary, and I grin as they fall to my power.  When we stand amid a pile of carcasses, Jowan puts a hand on my shoulder.  "See?  You can do anything," he says so earnestly it pains me to hear it.  
  
I smile weakly, trying not to betray myself, and say, "Let's keep going."  
  
Through the next door, two more sentinels and another spirit.  There's a door in front of us, and once our adversaries are taken care of, we enter.  It's just a room, so we turn around and go right down the hall.  Through that door, three sentinels wait for us.  Through the next, two sentinels and a spirit.  
  
It might seem that this would be tedious.  It isn't.  It's positively exhilarating.  I don't want to turn a corner to face an empty hallway.  Each of these adversaries is a ward placed by templars.  They are meant to hurt mages who do not bend to the Chantry's will.  
  
I relish the destruction of each.  
  
We make it to another door.  "We'll need another way into the phylactery chamber," Lily reminds us.  "Let's explore the repository."  
  
We enter the next room.  It's filled with artifacts I cannot identify.  They're probably Tevinter artifacts.  I wonder how many of them are taboo just because the Chantry fears Tevinter and how many are actually inherently dangerous.  
  
There's an unlocked chest, and I open it.  Inside is a blackened heartwood staff.  "Wow," I breathe.  
  
"That's a really nice staff," Jowan says appreciatively.  
  
"Are you sure you should be touching it?" Lily asks uneasily.  
  
"It's fine," I assure her.  I take it with me.  
  
"Wow, that old wall's about to come down any moment," Jowan says, looking at some brickwork behind a bookcase.  
  
I walk over to a statue vaguely shaped like a dog.  I kneel down to examine it.  
  
"What do you think this does?" Jowan asks.  
  
"Why does the Circle keeps so many Tevinter artifacts in storage?" Lily asks, fear creeping into her voice.  
  
"It's history, Lily," Jowan says, "and it's fascinating."  
  
I haven't been able to detect anything interesting about this statue, so I say, "This is just a stockpile of useless objects, Jowan."  
  
"I've seen pictures of things like this," he says, and I'm struck by his knowledge of something I know nothing about.  "They amplify any spell cast into them.  I bet we could use this to break into the phylactery chamber."  
  
"I doubt we could move it to the door," I say, thinking about how long it took us to get here.  
  
"See where the mortar might be decaying behind that bookcase?" he says, motioning in front of us.  "Let's take a closer look."  We walk up to the bookcase.  It's not too large, and the wood is fairly thin.  "It should be pretty easy to get this out of the way."  
  
I smirk.  "Alright, Jowan.  Move the bookcase aside."  I cross my arms and stand aside.  
  
"I can't do it on my own!  You have to help me."  In those words, he sums up our entire relationship.  "If we work together, we can shift it.  Come on."  
  
It moves aside with little effort from us.  
  
Jowan returns to the statue.  "Use this with the rod.  I'm sure it'll work.  Hurry... the clock's ticking."  
  
 _It is, Jowan.  I'm so sorry,_  I think and use the rod again.  The wall comes crashing down.  
  
Jowan rushes forward.  "This is the phylactery chamber!  It worked!"  
  
"We must find Jowan's phylactery quickly," Lily urges.  
  
"Where would it be?" I ask.  
  
"With the other apprentice phylacteries, I imagine," she replies.  
  
"It shouldn't be hard to find.  There aren't many phylacteries here," Jowan says.  
  
He's right.  Everyone who's passed their Harrowing has theirs sent to Denerim.  Three sentinels attack, but we are filled with adrenaline and they stand no chance.  Up some stairs, there are shelves covered with small vials of blood.  We each take a shelf to peruse.  
  
I find one that has Jowan's name on it.  "Here," I say, beckoning them over.  
  
"That's my phylactery!" Jowan says excitedly.  He hugs me.  "You found it!  I can't believe this tiny vial stands between me and freedom."  He holds it up and inspects it.  "So fragile, so easy to just be rid of it... to end its hold over me..."  He drops it.  Glass shatters and blood splatters on the floor.  "And I am free."  
  
I stretch and say, "That certainly took a while."  
  
"Well, it is done now.  Let us leave."  
  
"I do not want to stay here a moment longer," Lily agrees.


	4. A Grey Warden

Having disposed of Jowan's phylactery, we head for the door.  The door we'd originally tried to enter through opens to let us out.  My heart is racing when we leave the basement because I know that soon Jowan will know how I have betrayed him.  
  
"We did it!" Jowan says, and I worry again that he's being too loud.  "I can't believe it!  Thank you... we could never have-"  
  
"So what you said was true, Irving," Greagoir says, interrupting Jowan.  Irving and two templars walk with him.  
  
I take a step back from the lovers.  "You two are in big trouble," I say, and I don't think I manage to keep the sadness from my voice.  
  
"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage," Greagoir continues.  "I'm disappointed, Lily."  He walks up to her.  "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind.  Not a thrall of the blood mage, then.  You were right, Irving.  The initiate has betrayed us.  The Chantry will not let this go unpunished."  He suddenly turns to me.  "And this one, newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the Circle."  
  
I open my mouth to reply, to defend myself, but Jowan speaks before me.  "It's not her fault!  This was my idea!"  My chest is tight, with sorrow for my friend and with rage for Greagoir.  
  
Irving comes to my rescue as well.  "She is here under my orders, Greagoir.  I take full responsibility for her actions."  
  
"Wait," Jowan says, realizing what has happened.  "You... you led us into a trap?!"  He grabs my arm.  
  
I cannot look at him.  "Your foolish plan was doomed from the start," I say quietly, and I wish that my throat wasn't so tight and there could be more power behind my words.  I do not wish for forgiveness; I don't deserve it.  All I want is for him to understand, to know why I did what I did, and to know that I hate myself as much as he does.  
  
"Don't you dare speak to me," he growls, and he pushes me away.  
  
"Enough!" Greagoir says.  "As knight-commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death.  And this initiate has scorned her vows.  Take her to Aeonar."  
  
A templar moves forward to take Lily, and she stammers, "The... the mages prison.  No... please, no.  Not there!"  Aeonar is an old Tevinter building that the Chantry uses as a prison for anyone they catch connected to blood magic.  
  
Jowan sees the fear in Lily and yells, "No!  I won't let you touch her!"  He takes a knife out from his belt and stabs himself in the hand.  I can feel the magic surge into him, and he uses this power to telekinetically push the templars and Irving away.  All four men fall, unconscious.  I am surprised at my friend.  I would have never imagined Jowan turning to blood magic.  I am not mad at him, not disappointed, not afraid.  I know my friend, and I know that blood magic will not change him.  This assertion of his autonomy, this middle finger to the templars, gives me hope that he will be able to survive.  Jowan turns to Lily.  
  
She backs away from him in horror.  "By the Maker... blood magic!  H-how could you?  You said you never..."  
  
He holds out his arms.  "I admit, I... I dabbled!  I thought it would make me a better mage!"  
  
"Blood magic is evil, Jowan," Lily says, regurgitating the Chantry's teachings.  "It corrupts people... changes them..."  
  
"I'm going to give it up.  All magic.  I just want to be with you, Lily.  Please, come with me..." Jowan pleads.  I believe him.  I think he is the only mage I know that would voluntarily give up magic without qualms.  
  
"I trusted you," she says through clenched teeth.  There is more anger in her voice than sorrow now.  "I was ready to sacrifice everything for you...  I...  I don't know who you are, blood mage.  Stay away from me."  
  
Jowan looks at her for another torturous moment, glances angrily at me, and then runs away.  
  
When I'm sure that Jowan is out of the Circle, I kneel before Irving.  I put a hand on his shoulder and attempt to revive him.  "First-enchanter Irving," I say.  
  
He stirs.  He sees me, and asks, "Are you alright?  Where's Greagoir?"  
  
The knight-commander is stirring himself.  "I knew it... blood magic.  But to overcome so many... I never thought him capable of such power."  
  
I hadn't thought him capable of such power, either.  "He lied to me," I mutter, surprised at this.  He was never one to lie, and I think he knew I don't much care about blood mages.  
  
"None of us expected this," Irving says, misunderstanding me.  "Are you alright, Greagoir?"  
  
"As good as can be expected, given the circumstances!  If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened!" he says angrily.  "Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!"  
  
I smile, knowing that this is true.  Perhaps Jowan will avoid punishment after all.  
  
"Jowan destroyed his phylactery.  Without it, he will be hard to locate," Irving agrees.  
  
"Don't you think I know that?" Greagoir continues.  "Where is the girl?"  
  
Lily steps forward from the shadows.  "I... I am here, ser."  
  
"You helped a blood mage!  Look at all he's hurt!"  Greagoir approaches her with a cool rage in his eyes.  Rage, and maybe embarrassment too.  
  
I am angry at Lily for not accepting Jowan as he is, so I say, "Yes, Lily, you should have known better."  
  
Lily looks down at her feet.  "Knight-commander... I... I was wrong.  I was accomplice to a... a blood mage.  I will accept whatever punishment you see fit.  Even... even Aeonar."  
  
"Get her out of my sight," Greagoir says, and the templars step forward.  Then he turns to me.  "And you.  You were in a repository full of magics that are locked away for a reason."  
  
My chin juts out and I stand up straight at this clear accusation.  
  
"Did you take anything important from the repository?" Irving asks, less accusative.  
  
I think about the staff I picked up.  "No."  My voice does not falter, nor do my eyes.  
  
"Very well," Irving says.  "I believe you."  
  
"But you antics have made a mockery of this Circle!"  This is not enough for Greagoir.  "Ah... what are we to do with you?"  
  
"Nothing?" I reply incredulously.  I've had a long day, and this interrogation is far too much for me to deal with.  "I was just doing as I was told."  
  
"As I said, she was working under my orders," Irving adds.  
  
"And this improves the situation?  The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me!"  Greagoir is out for blood, it seems.  He's making a fool of himself.  
  
"I had my reasons."  Irving crosses his arms and stands his ground.  
  
"You're not all-knowing, Irving!  You don't know how much influence the blood mage might have had.  How are we to deal with this?"  
  
My fist clenches, and I am thinking of a couple ways to deal with this, when Duncan approaches.  "Knight-commander, if I may... I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army.  I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens.  Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks."  
  
"What?"  Greagoir turns angrily to Irving.  "You promised him a new Grey Warden?"  
  
I look questioningly at Irving.  He smiles at me.  "She has served the Circle well.  She would make an excellent Grey Warden."  
  
I do not dare to hope.  To hope would be too much.  To think that there is a chance that I might leave the Circle forever and to have that taken away from me would destroy me.  
  
"We look for dedication in our recruits," Duncan says.  "Fighting darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."  
  
"I object," Greagoir says.  "You say she operated under your instructions, Irving, but I do not trust her.  I must investigate this issue, and I will _not_ release this mage to the Grey Warden."  
  
"No," I say, finding courage in the possibility of a future and in my rage at this injustice.   _He doesn't trust me?_   "I have done all that was asked of me.  And you cannot keep me here."  I can practically see Greagoir's blood boil.  
  
"Greagoir, mages are needed.  This mage is needed.  Worse things plague this world than blood mages--you know that," Duncan says.  "I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions."  
  
"This mage does not deserve a place in the Order," he says angrily.  
  
Irving responds before I can.  "Why?  Do we not reward service?  This mage has served the Circle well.  You have an opportunity few even dream of.  Do not squander it."  
  
"So I _am_  to be a Grey Warden," I say, making sure that Irving has convinced Greagoir.  
  
"Yes.  Be proud, child.  You are luckier than you know."  
  
I know exactly how lucky I am.  I will leave this prison.  No longer will I be scrutinized by templars every moment of every day.  "Perhaps the Grey Wardens will appreciate my talent more," I say with a smirk, realizing how many opportunities I will have to use my magic when I'm outside of the Circle.  
  
"You will have ample opportunity to hone your skills, I assure you," Duncan says.  He touches me lightly on the arm.  "Come.  Your new life awaits."  
  
I take a last look at the stone walls that have held me in for most of my life.  I smile and follow the Grey Warden out of the tower, no personal items to retrieve .  It's mid-afternoon, and the sun hurts my eyes.  I don't mind, though.  It's been years since we were allowed to go outside.  This is a treat.  No, this is just life now.  
  
"You there," Duncan says to the templar in charge of the small boat that crosses Calanhad to the mainland.  To freedom.  
  
"Ser?" he replied, straightening and looking suspiciously at me.  
  
"Would you take us back to the mainland?"  
  
"But ser," he repeats, looking again at me.  "The mage-"  
  
"The mage has been recruited for the Grey Wardens and is coming with me."  
  
The templar continues to glare at me skeptically.  He only concedes when Duncan clears his throat.  The three of us get into the small boat and row to the other side.  The templar ties up the boat and helps the two of us out.  
  
"Thank you," Duncan says.  I give no thanks to the man who so grudgingly allowed me my freedom.  "Come along," Duncan continues, walking down the short dock.  
  
I hesitate for a moment at the edge of the dock.  One more step and I will really be free.  I will really have left the Circle.  I will be free of templars and manipulative First Enchanters and haunted memories.  One more step, and I will begin my life anew.  
  
Duncan turns to me, as if to say something, but he stays silent.  I can only assume that he understands, that he knows I haven't even been outside in years, that this is no small thing.  
  
With a deep breath, I take this step.  Each subsequent step is easier, and Duncan resumes his pace.  "Where are we going?" I ask, realizing that I don't really know what I've gotten myself into.  
  
"We will be travelling south through the hinterlands to the ruin of Ostagar, on the edge of the Kocari Wilds.  The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands.  It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest.  The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself.  There are only a few Grey Wardens in Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here.  This Blight must be stopped here and now.  If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."  
  
"How long will it take?" I ask.  
  
"It will be an eight day journey.  There are a couple other Grey Wardens waiting for our return that we'll be travelling with."  
  
Their names are Threnin, Gell, Vestina, and Utin.  When we arrive at their camp, they greet Duncan with warmth and respect.  I'm surprised when Gell pulls me into a welcoming hug.  The group laughs at my startled expression.  
  
"Relax," Vestina says, still chuckling.  
  
 _They_ certainly have.  Utin is laying down using his pack as a pillow.  Vestina is making arrows and has her materials spread out in front of her.  Threnin is sitting and reading a fairly large book whose title I can't make out.  Gell seems to have abandoned some carving to get up and hug me.  
  
"You a mage?" Utin asks, not getting up.  
  
"No," I say quickly.  "Just living in the Circle because I want to.  My ideal living situation is never being allowed to go outside."  
  
Vestina and Utin raise their eyebrows, apparently surprised by my bitterness.  Gell bursts out laughing.  "I like her.  I'm glad we get to keep her."  
  
"I'm glad you get to keep me too," I say, throwing an angry look over my shoulder at the Circle.  
  
The journey is _long_.  Eight days with five people you don't really know is hard.  I mostly keep to myself.  When we stop and make camp for the night, the Wardens talk about some of the things they've done, what to expect from darkspawn.  Vestina tells a few stories about the Dalish, about her tattoos and the god they represented.  Gell talks about being casteless in Orzammar, about the Deep Roads, about how it felt to reach the surface for the first time.  Utin talks a little about the network of surface dwarves that smuggled lyrium, but he can only say so much without putting us all in unnecessary danger.  Threnin isn't very talkative, but he is a great fighter.  He fights with a two-handed sword and will spar with me before bed.  
  
I love it.  I love to fight.  Even in these small, fake battles with my companion, I feel alive like I never have in the Circle.  I pity the mages stuck in that prison, but not too much.  I am out, and Jowan is out.  There is no one else still there that I give a damn about.  I am sorry that they must remain, but I owe them nothing.  
  
When Ostagar finally enters our sights, our companions go ahead to announce to the sentries and soldiers of our arrival.  Duncan and I made our way more slowly.  The ruins were huge.  Large buildings and towers were crumbling all around, nature slowly crawling back over stone.  
  
"Ho there.  Duncan!" someone calls to us.  A blonde man in full, golden armor approaches.  He's followed by a small entourage.  
  
"King Cailan!" Duncan says in surprise as the man grabs his hand with a smile.  "I didn't expect-"  
  
"A royal welcome?  I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun," the king continues.  He's grinning like an idiot.  
  
 _He thinks a Blight is fun?_  
  
"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan says gravely.  
  
"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan by my side in the battle after all!  Glorious!"  There's a glimmer of excitement in Cailan's eyes.  This is our king?  This idealistic child?  He turns to look at me.  "The other Wardens told me you'd found a promising recruit.  I take it this is she?"  
  
"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty," he says.  
  
"There's no need to be so formal, Duncan," Cailan says, coming to stand in front of me.  "We'll be shedding blood together, after all.  Ho there, friend!  Might I know your name?"  
  
I sigh and cross my arms.  "I highly doubt it, but anything's possible."  
  
He chuckles.  "You've got yourself a lively one, Duncan.  And I was beginning to think the Wardens were all stodgy priests!  I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi.  I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"  
  
"I'm only recently out of my apprenticehood," I say.  I know only a few offensive spells.  Why would the Circle teach dangerous magic to mages they are sure can't control their powers.  
  
"Your abilities are still above those of other men," Cailan responds.  "That the Grey Wardens have recruited you says much.  Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar.  The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."  
  
This idiot child is leading the armies of Ferelden.  We're all doomed.  "I couldn't care less for your welcome."  
  
"I remind you that you speak to the king of Ferelden," Duncan says warningly as Cailan's eyebrows raise.  
  
"Don't worry, Duncan," Cailan says, but it sounds like he's been hurt by my comment.  "You must both be eager to reach your tents.  Have you any news before I go?"  
  
"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan says.  Arl Eamon, the arl of Redcliffe, was Cailan's uncle.  
  
"Ha!" Cailan laughs and turns away.  "Eamon just wants in on the glory!  We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."  
  
Why doesn't that reassure me?  "You sound very confident of that," I say dryly.  
  
"Overconfident, some would say.  Right, Duncan?"  He laughs.  
  
Well, at least he knows it.  
  
"Your Majesty, I'm not sure the Blight can be ended quite as... quickly as you might wish."  Duncan is staring at the king without humor.  
  
"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," Cailan continues.  "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."  
  
Duncan raises an eyebrow.  "Disappointed, Your Majesty?"  
  
"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales!" Cailan responds, a childish tone in his voice.  "A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted God!  But I suppose this will have to do."  He sighs.  "I must go before Loghain sends out a search party.  Farewell, Grey Wardens."  
  
Duncan bows, and I nod as Cailan and his entourage walk away.  When they are quite a ways away, Duncan turns to me.  "What the king said is true.  They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."  
  
I scoffed.  "He didn't seem to take the darkspawn very seriously."  Or anything else, for that matter, except vanity.  
  
"True."  Duncan motioned for me to start walking toward the camp.  "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger each passing day.  By now, they look to outnumber us."  He sighs.  "I know there is an archdemon behind this.  But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."  
  
"You could if he were not such a fool," I say.  The Grey Wardens are the authority on darkspawn and archdemons.  If one tells you something about them, you listen.  
  
"You must not speak of the king so.  He is... over-eager, perhaps, but he is also one of the few Grey Warden allies.  Our numbers in Ferelden are too few.  We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference.  To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."  
  
"A hot meal might be nice first," I say, thinking wistfully of real food prepared by people who know what they're doing rather than the shit you eat when you're on the road.  
  
Duncan chuckles.  "I agree!  We have until nightfall to begin the ritual.  Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden.  The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required.  We must begin soon."  
  
"Wonderful," I say, not looking forward at all to whatever this preparation entails.  "Let's get this over with, then."  
  
"Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish.  All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being.  There is another Grey Warden int he camp by the name of Alistair.  When you are ready, seek him out and tell him that it's time to summon the other recruits.  Until then," he says, stopping before a large bridge connecting us with the rest of the ruins, "I have business I must attend to.  You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to."  
  
I nodded and off he went.   _Here I am, I guess.  Time to be a Grey Warden._


	5. Alistair

I take a moment to look around again.  There are soldiers all over the place.  Many of them stop and look at me.  They must know I'm a mage.  I'm still wearing robes and carrying a staff.  They seem to be okay with it, though, as no one tries to argue with me.  The presence of Grey Wardens and the mages recruited to serve in the army must be at least partially quelling their fears.  I am not sad to be left in peace.  
  
I walk across the bridge toward the main camp.  Duncan is already just about at the other side.  It occurs to me that I am not afraid of heights.  There is only so high up you can get in the Circle, so it's not a thing that I've really tested until now.  But here, high above the ground, I feel no fear of falling.  Only a small joy that there is so much open air around me.  
  
"Hail!" a soldier says when I get to the other side of the bridge. "You must be the Grey Warden recruit that Duncan brought."  
  
"And?" I reply.  
  
"This place hasn't seen such bustle in centuries, I'll wager.  Need a hand getting anywhere?" he asks.  
  
"I'm looking for a Grey Warden named Alistair," I say, realizing that on my own I may have to search the whole camp for a man that I have no description of.  
  
"Try heading north," he suggests.  "I think he was sent with a message to the mages."  
  
"What if I wanted a meal and a bath?" I ask, feeling my stomach grumble.  
  
He points.  "There's a collection of tents over that way.  There's some for bathing and dressing and a mess."  
  
I nod in gratitude.  "I'll be on my way."  
  
"Good luck to you, then."  
  
Inside the camp, soldiers mill around.  Most of them are in full armor, but a couple are wearing more comfortable clothing.  The mages have their own sectioned off area of the camp with templars to guard them.  I sneer at them and walk away, toward the smell of food.  I enter the mess, looking at the food.  It's a lot of stuff I haven't seen before.  Of course, I've only been exposed to a small number of dishes in the Circle.  
  
One of the cooks looks at me expectantly.  "You want something?"  
  
"Something, yeah," I say, still looking with interest at the various platters.  
  
"You a mage?" he asks, grabbing me a plate.  
  
I take it.  "The robe give me away?" I retort.   _What should I try?_  
  
He scoffs and crosses his arms.  "I though mages didn't go anywhere without templar escorts."  
  
"I'm a Grey Warden, too, if that changes things.  And it does.  So piss off.  Bother Duncan if you care that much."  
  
He glares at me and walks off.  I roll my eyes and grab a random bit of meat and some sort of vegetable medley.  
  
I'm not used to this much freedom.  I can say practically whatever I want to whoever I want without worrying about being executed or made tranquil.  I smile to myself and sit at a table just outside the tent.  I watch as all sorts of people walk by.  Most are human, more men than women, but there are elves and dwarves, too.  Every so often I see a sister from the Chantry, blessing a group of idiots or leading them in prayer.  Some bullshit like that.  
  
The food is okay, a bit bland, but it's warm and fills my stomach.  I return the plate and utensils to the bin of dirty dishes beside the food, getting another spiteful look from the cook, and leave.  The bathing tents are close by, and I clean myself there, too.  It's nice, not having to worry about travelling a certain distance before nightfall.  
  
When I'm done, there's no longer anything keeping me from meeting this Alistair, so I head north.  I pass by mabari kennels, and hear a man mumbling to himself.  "Hmm, this isn't good.  I'd hate to waste such a promising member of the breed."  He looks up and sees me.  "Are you the new Warden?  I could use some help."  
  
"What's the problem?" I ask, more out of curiosity than charity.  
  
"This is a mabari," he says, motioning to the dog in the kennel behind him.  There are a couple other mabari around, but this is the closest I've been to one.  I remember reading about them in the Circle library.  They're wardogs bred by mages long ago to be intelligent enough to understand complex commands and human speech.  "Smart breed, and strong.  His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood.  I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first."  
  
I shrug.  "I'll give it a shot."  I'm not afraid of this dog, and I'm in no rush to meet Alistair.  
  
"Go in the pen and let him smell you.  We'll know right away if he'll respond.  Let's hope this works.  I would really hate to have to put him down."  He hands me the muzzle.  
  
He opens the gate into the pen, and I walk up to the mabari.  He looks up at me, and I can see the intelligence in his eyes.  He backs down weakly.  He must be very sick.  I approach him with the muzzle out and say softly, "You need this.  If you want to live, you need this."  The mabari growls weakly but submits.  He whimpers as I clasp the muzzle, and I pat him on the neck.  "You'll be fine."  
  
I exit the pen and see that the man is beaming.  "Well done!  Now I can treat the dog properly -- poor fellow."  He pauses.  "Come to think of it, are you heading into the Wilds any time soon?"  
  
I shrug, honestly unsure what I'll be doing here.  "I might be.  Why?"  
  
"There's a particular herb I could use to improve the dog's chances.  It's a flower that grows in the swamps here, if I remember.  If you happen across it, I could use it.  It's very distinctive: all white with a blood-red center."  
  
"Do you think I have nothing better to do?"  Searching the wilds for a rare flower would be a lot of unnecessary work.  
  
"We're all busy.  As it is, if we can get this hound better, we can re-imprint him on someone."  He smiles.  "Even you, if you like."  
  
I like the sound of that.  "I'll see if I can find one."  
  
"Good.  In the meantime, I'll begin treating our poor friend."  
  
He turns back to the dog, and I walk away.  I'm still in no hurry to meet Alistair, so I meander through the camp.  There's a man in cage that catches my attention.  
  
"Huh..." he says when I approach.  "Someone finally comes and talks to the lone prisoner?  I don't suppose you've come to sentence me."  
  
"And if I have?"  Pretending to be someone I'm not might get me a bit more information.  
  
"I doubt I'm that lucky.  I don't suppose you have a bit of kindness in you?"  
  
 _Unlikely_ , I think, but I say nothing.  
  
"All I want is food and water.  They haven't fed me since I was locked up, and I'm starving."  
  
I raise an eyebrow.  "Why would I want to help you?"  
  
"Because you might want something I don't need.  Them Circle wizards got a chest they keep things in, magical things... and I sole the key.  That's why I'm here.  I got one of them drunk, took his key, and tried to sneak to the chest.  They assumed I was deserting.  I can't use it from here, but I'd trade you for some food and water."  
  
I took a few steps closer.  "They didn't find the key when you were arrested?"  
  
"I swallowed it.  But it's... uhh... come back into my possession since then, so to speak."  He reaches under the straw strewn on the bottom of his cage and pulls out a small key.  
  
 _Eww_.   _But I would love to steal those whatever's in that chest from the mages; I'd be getting some useful stuff_ and _it'd be poetic_ _.  I probably don't even have to go through all the trouble of getting this idiot some food._ I walk very up to the cage, very close, and smile at him.  I pull the knife from my belt and say, "I'll take that."  
  
"What?!"  There is terror in his eyes as he realizes there is nothing he can do to avoid this.  "But... you can't do that?!  Ahh!"  
  
I push the knife into his throat, and he twitches for a moment.  His blood sprays from the wound and paints my hands and the ends of my sleeves.  He falls down, certainly dead, and I grab the key before the guard can turn around.  
  
"What?!"  The guard's eyes flit between my bloody hands and the dead prisoner.  "What in Andraste's name did you do that for?  Just because yer a Grey Warden doesn't give you the right to go and kill anyone you please!  Explain yourself!"  
  
"He lunged at me," I say without affect.  "I had to defend myself."  
  
"Hmm, I suppose you did, at that," he says, seeming to buy my quickly crafted lie.  "Fair enough.  Well, no skin off my teeth."  He shrugs.  "When they ask me why he's dead, that's what I'll tell them."  
  
I nod and walk away.  I'm smirking; I didn't expect that to be so easy or so thrilling.  I loved the rush I got watching his life leave his eyes, seeing how he feared the power I had over him.  I've never had power over anyone before, not really.  As much as the templars assumed every mage could destroy them and feared us for it, they had all the power.  The institution of the Circle made it that way.  Now things are different, and I like it much better this way.  
  
I decide it's time to go talk to Alistair.  On my way over to where I've been told he'll be, I see a tranquil guarding a chest.   _That must be the chest I have the key for_.  A little farther, I see two men talking, one in a robe and the other in armor.  I approach them, assuming that the man in armor is Alistair.  
  
"What is it now?" the man in the robe asks, obviously at the end of his rope.  "Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"  
  
"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage."  He speaks slowly, and I hear the threat of snapping his his words.  "She desires your presence."  
  
"What her Reverence 'desires' is of no concern to me!  I am busy helping the Grey Wardens--by the king's orders, I might add!"  
  
"Should I have asked her to write a note?"  
  
The mage scowls.  "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"  
  
"Yes."  He sighs.  "I was harassing _you_  by delivering a message."  
  
"You glibness does you no credit."  
  
"Here I thought we were getting along so well.  I was even going to name one of my children after you... the grumpy one."  
  
"Enough.  I will speak to the woman if I must!  Get out of my way, fool!"  
  
I raise an eyebrow at him as we walks past, heading back into camp.  I turn back to Alistair.  He's firmly built, handsome enough in a very plain sort of way.  His hair is short and light brown, his eyes a similar shade, and he's got some stubble on his chin.  
  
"You know," he says with a smirk, "one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."  
  
I squint at him.  "You are a very strange man."  
  
He chuckles.  "You're not the first woman to tell me that."  He looks at me more closely.  "Wait, we haven't met, have we?  I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"  
  
"I am indeed a mage," I say, and I feel a sense of pride that I have never felt before in uttering those words.  
  
"Really?  You don't look like a mage."  He's surprised and sounds relieved.  I narrow my eyes at him.  "Uhh... that is... I mean... how interesting."  He shifts uncomfortably, and I cross my arms.  "Wait, I _do_  know who you are.  You're Duncan's new recruit, from the Circle of Magi.  I should have recognized you right away.  I apologize."  
  
I skip over the idea that he should have recognized me and go on the offensive.  "If you have a problem with my magic, say so now."  
  
"No problem," he says quickly, his cheeks turning a little pink.  "It's just my background makes mages nervous.  And nervous mages make me nervous.  I don't want to be a toad; I like the way I am.  Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden, though I guess you knew that," he adds as an afterthought.  "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."  
  
I shrug.  "Let's get on with it, then."  I'll be happy when I'm fighting again.  I want to be killing darkspawn, using my magic.  This meandering around an army camp is rather boring.  
  
"Eager, are we?"  He chuckles.  He clears his throat uncomfortably when he sees that I am less than amused.  "Anyhow, whenever you're ready, let's head back to Duncan.  I imagine he's eager to get things started."  
  
"Let's go."  
  
"If you have any questions, let me know.  Otherwise, lead on!"  
  
We walk east, Alistair leading us toward Duncan.  He's standing in front of a fire, deep in thought, but he turns quickly to us when he hears us.  "You found Alistair, did you?  Good.  I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations."  He turns to Alistair.  "Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair," he says, mildly chastising.  
  
"What can I say?  The revered mother ambushed me.  The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."  He shrugs.  
  
"She forced you to sass the mage, did she?  We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair.  We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."  
  
"I apologize, Duncan," the young warden replies, feeling his superior's disappointment.  "I'll go collect who we're missing."  
  
Duncan and I wait in front of the fire.  As I hold my hands out in front of it, I can feel the power in the flames.  I haven't had any lyrium in a while, though, so I don't test my luck and waste my energy playing around with the fire.  Instead, I stand and feel it, feel the potential for the spell on my fingertips but do not cast it.  
  
Alistair returns with two men.  One is large and dopey-looking, with a large nose, sallow skin, hair on his chin instead of on his head, and a two-handed sword.  The other is thinner, shiftier, with light brown skin, scruff on his cheeks, and a bow and arrow.  "This is Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe," Alistair says, motioning to the large one.  
  
"How do you do?" he says politely.  
  
"And this here is Daveth, a... fellow from Denerim," Alistair says, motioning to the archer.  
  
"Charmed, m'lady," he says with a shit-eating grin.  
  
"And this of course is Sybil, the recruit that Ducnan said he was bringing," Alistair says finally, motioning to me.  
  
I fold my arms.  "Can we get on with this?"  
  
Duncan nods.  "Yes, let's begin.  You four will be heading into the Kocari Wilds to perform two tasks.  The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."  
  
 _Easy enough_.  "And what's the second task?"  
  
"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts.  It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them.  Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."  
  
Alistair and I nodded.  "Find the archive and three vials of blood.  Understood."  
  
"The scrolls contain treaties promising support.  Treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come."  Duncan puts a hand on Alistair's shoulder.  "Watch over your charges, Alistair.  Return quickly, and safely."  
  
"We will," Alistair replies with a nod.  
  
"Then may the Maker watch over your path.  I will see you when you return."  
  
Alistair nods toward the gate.  "This way."  
  
We walk over the large wooden gate keeping the Wilds at bay, and the guard stops us.  "Hail!"  He looks us over.  "I'm told you all have business in the Wilds.  The gate's open for you... just be careful out there.  Even a Grey Warden won't be safe in the forest tonight."  
  
He moves to open the gate, and I shrug and say, "I'm not too worried about it."  
  
"Look at this one, ready to take on darkspawn all by herself," Daveth says snidely as we enter the Wilds.  
  
"Your mad," Jory says in agreement.  
  
I put on my most intimidating grin.  "Are you insulting the mage?"  
  
"Fuck," Daveth breathes, taking a step back.  
  
"Let's get this shit and get back."  
  
The Kocari Wilds are a swamp, really.  There's still water all around.  Trees and moss and grasses grow in abundance.  And it smells.  Yet, it isn't a tower, so it has its appeal.  
  
A pack of wolves comes out of nowhere and surrounds us.  
  
I grab my staff and call magic to my fingertips.  "Let's see some blood!"  
  
The four of us slaughter the wolves, barely getting scratched in the process.  
  
Just beyond the carnage, someone calls out, "Over here!"  
  
Following the sound, we come upon a decimated caravan of soldiers and carts.  One man in moving, crawling toward us on the ground.  He's covered in blood and pale, and it looks like the corruption is seeping into his flesh.  He sees us and tries to focus his eyes.  "Who... is that?  Grey... Wardens...?"  
  
"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair says in surprise.  
  
"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn!  They came out of the ground... Please, help me!  I've got to... return to camp..."  
  
"We don't have time for this," I say, taking a step forward.  "Let's go."   _He_ 's not my problem.  I don't give a shit whether or not he makes it back to camp, and I do care about getting on with the Joining as soon as possible.  
  
"'We don't have time'?  What, you have an urgent meeting somewhere?" Alistair asks, crossing his arms.  
  
I sigh.   _Yeah, that darkspawn army that's on its way._   I take my knife out and kneel down.  "He's already dead, see?"  I slit the soldier's throat.  
  
"Does the word insane mean anything to you?" Alistair asks as I wipe the blade clean in the grass.  
  
"I prefer the term 'ruthless' myself."  
  
"Remind me not to get injured anywhere near you."  
  
I roll my eyes.  "He's corrupted, see?"  I nudge his face with my foot so that Alistair can see his skin decaying.  "Leaving him alive would have been a liability."  
  
Alistair pouts, as if he is disappointed in this explanation of my behavior.  "You're right.  Sorry."  
  
I decide not to tell him about the recently deceased prisoner back at camp.


	6. The Kocari Wilds

"You said earlier your background makes mages nervous," I say to Alistair as we make our way through the Wilds.

His eyes meet mine, and he takes a deep breath. I think with satisfaction that it is I who makes him nervous. "I, uhh, used to be a templar."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? You, a mage-killer?" He doesn't seem like he could really do it.

He opens his mouth, stops himself, then tries again. "I never took my vows. Duncan recruited me before I really became one. I was raised in the Chantry, though. I can do a lot of what templars can."

"I was raised in the Circle from the age of six," I snap, "and I hate templars."

Alistair swallows hard, and I can feel Daveth and Jory stiffen awkwardly beside us. "I can imagine," Alistair says.

I glare at him, thinking about all the abuses the templars have been responsible for. "No, you can't."

"Right," he replies slowly, eyeing me warily. He pauses, listens for a moment, then points. "Darkspawn are over there."

I nod, and we head off to face them. The darkspawn are... different from what I had imagined. The creatures before me are not the foul ghouls that I had pictured when reading about them in the Circle library or discussing them with Threnin, Gell, Vestina, and Utin. They are so very human. Almost everything about them rings of humanity. Sure, their decaying skin is greenish and covered in lesions, many of which are actively seeping blood and pus. Sure, their lips have receded so that their sharp teeth are always bared and there are only two holes where their noses should be. But their shape is human, their movement are human, even the crazed look in their red, glossed-over eyes is human.

The sight of them gives all of us a moment's pause, but the darkspawn do not wait for us. Their stench pulls us back and our fighting instincts kick in. They are much tougher opponents than the wolves were, and their blades and arrows do not leave us unscathed.

But we kill them. Alistair pulls out three small, empty vials and hands one to each of us. I take mine and walk over to a genlock emissary: the darkspawn mage. It is bleeding from the gut, having been stabbed there either by Alistair or Jory. I wince and plunge my hand in the mess so that the blood may flow into the vial instead of onto the ground.

When the vial is full, I stand and put a cork in it. I wipe my dripping hand on my robes and pocket the vial.

"So, now we go look for the treaties?" Daveth says, pocketing his vial as well.

Alistair nods. "The outpost should be over that way. It'll be ruins now, I expect, but it shouldn't be too hard to spot."

We walk in that direction, keeping our eyes and ears open for any sign of darkspawn or wolves. There are some, of course, but not in the numbers that we just faced. Not easy fights, but manageable.

"Hold up," I say as my companions sheath their weapons. I step over a darkspawn corpse and into some bushes, trying to get a closer look at the flash that caught my eye. The plant is bristly, and it scratches at my hands and robes, but I push it aside and reveal a small flower: white petals with a red center.

"What's that for?" Jory asks, peeking over my shoulder.

I pluck it from the ground and put it in my pocket. "It's for a mabari back at camp."

"You're getting a dog a flower?" Daveth asks, smirking.

I stare back at him. "It's medicine."

"Why are you getting it then?" Alistair asks, eyeing me suspiciously. "Random act of kindness?"

I roll my eyes. "If they can heal him, maybe he can be reimprinted. On me."

"Ah. That makes sense." Alistair shrugs. It seems he's already got a strong opinion of who I am in his head. "Well, we'd best move on. I'd hate to still be out here after nightfall."

Jory shuddered. "I agree."

There are darkspawn outside the crumbling outpost, and they slow us down. One nearly breaks Daveth's arm, but a health poultice and some magic patch him up well enough.

The outpost has been overtaken by the Wilds. Moss and grasses grow up and on and in the stone, which lacks a roof and only consists of half-walls. The stone-work that remains suggests that this was once a very beautiful building, but that was long ago.

In the center, there is a chest, smashed to bits. I approach it to get a better look, but it's empty.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

My head jerks up to what is left of the upper level of the ruins. Standing there, looking down at us, is a woman. She's beautiful. Her smooth, pale skin strikes a strong contrast with her black hair. As she descends and approaches us, I see that her clothing, which shows a great deal of her body, is a mix of different fabrics, belts, stones, and feathers.

I stand, and I see my companions shift in agitation, ready for a fight. I do not particularly sense hostility from her, though. I do not reach for my staff.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" she continues. "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" When no one answers, she says, "What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

"I would first know who you are and where you come from," I say, holding my head high and stepping forward.

She folds her arms and smirks. "You are the intruder here. I believe the first question is rightfully mine. I have watched your progress for some time," she says, walking past us, inspecting each of us as she passes. "'Where do they go,' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now," she says, stopping on the edge of the ruin, "you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair warns, his voice low but harsh. "She looks Chasind, and that means other may be nearby."

I know very little about the Chasind, and I suspect that what I do know is not quite accurate. The books in the Circle say that their tribes are led by apostates called shamans. They are to be feared, as they learned their magic from "Witches of the Wild," whatever that meant. The tribes are disorganized and barbaric, and much of Ferelden ignores the Chasind.

"You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" the stranger replies, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Yes," Alistair says, narrowing his eyes. "Swooping is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Daveth says, backing away. "She'll turn us into toads."

"Witch of the Wilds?" the woman says, letting out a small laugh. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" She turns and looks directly at me. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

I take a step toward her. "You may call me Sybil."

She smiles. "And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair repeats, taking a step forward. "You stole them, didn't you? You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

I sigh. Andraste's ass, that was stupid.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan says, one eyebrow raised. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems," Alistair replies through gritted teeth. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." She puts her hands on her hips and juts our her chin. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened."

"Then who removed them?" I ask, taking another step forward.

"'Twas my mother, in fact." Morrigan sighs.

My brows furrow. "Is this a joke?"

"If so, it seems the truthful rather than funny sort, no?"

"Great," Alistair says sarcastically. "She's a thieving, weird-talking, funny sort of witch."

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters. Flowers grow as well as toads," she says, looking out at the swampland. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Alistair leans in to me. "We should get those treaties, but I dislike this... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

It does seem convenient, so I ask, "Why are you interested in helping us?"

She shrugs and moves closer. "Why not? I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

I smirk. "Only the clever ones."

She raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Yes? I suppose I see the merit in that."

I look to my companions. "I say we go with her." We need the treaties, and this beautiful stranger in the Wilds has yet to present any threat to us.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will!" Daveth protests. "Just you watch."

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change," Jory says.

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

We walk in an uneasy silence, everyone else walking a distance from Morrigan.

"So," I start, and Alistair glances at me sideways. "You are an apostate. 'Witch of the Wilds' or no, you're a mage."

Morrigan rolls her eyes, which are a brilliant yellow and mesmerize me. "The Wilds care little for such designations." She looks at me. "Why? Are you planning to turn me over to your Chantry that I might be locked up in one of your Circles?"

I hold up my hand and light it on fire for a moment. "The Grey Wardens don't much care for 'such designations' either."

"Ah! A mage who's slipped the Circle's leash. I must admit I'm surprised that the Circle would let a mage wander with so little supervision."

"They didn't have a choice, really." The words are cold, without affect, and that surprises me. It is not my intent, but my words stop the conversation. My jaw clenches, and I look away.

It is habit to clamp down on my emotions, especially those regarding my magic. I've spent my life understanding that boasting about my magic is dangerous. I know that now that I am out here with the Wardens, I need not fear the templars, but I am still afraid of them. And I hate myself for it.

We are led to a hut not far away, surrounded by crumbling, white stone ruins. Standing outside the hut, as if waiting for us, is an old woman. Her white hair hangs limply around her face, and her clothes are dirty and ragged. But her eyes are yellow, like her daughter's, and she radiates power. I tense, preparing for a fight.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan calls as we approach, though the greeting lacks familial warmth. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-"

"I see them, girl," the witch says, cutting off her daughter. Her yellow eyes trail over us and she lets out a thoughtful, Mmm. "Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asks incredulously.

She smirks. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

Daveth leans in and whispers, "She's a witch, I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet, Daveth," Jory says. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"There's a smart lad," she says, her grin widening. "Sadly irrelevant tot he larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." She takes a step toward me. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?"

I take a moment to return her stare, unflinching. I say honestly, "I believe you're crazy, and undoubtedly dangerous."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that all? Surely your mind stretches farther than these surroundings! So much about you is uncertain... and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!"

I don't understand what she's saying to me, but I refuse to back away from it.

"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

The witch snorted. "Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She let out a cackle.

I watch Morrigan as her mother says this, and I see the red in her cheeks and the slow, deliberate inhale of breath. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," she says, fists clenched at her sides but voice level.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking," she says, making a pointed stare at Alistair, "your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these." She walks toward the house to a small chest and rummages through it.

"You," Alistair begins, but then her words reach him. "Oh. You protected them?"

"And why not?" She pulls out a bundle of sealed scrolls and hands them to Alistair. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

I eye the treaties and turn to her. "How do you know all this?"

She smirks again. "Do I? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments." She cackles again, and I cross my arms. "Oh, do not mind me," she says, waving a hand. "You have what you came for."

Morrigan puts a hand on her hip. "Time for you to go, then."

Her mother turns to her sharply. "Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests."

Morrigan takes the hint and sighs. "Oh, very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me." She walks past without waiting for us.

We follow after, and there is a palpable relief from the others now that we are leaving the witch behind. We are all quiet for a while, but I say, "Thank you for your help."

Morrigan looks at me in surprise, and I wonder how often she hears appreciation and gratitude. "Truly, it was my mother that helped you, not I, but you are welcome, I suppose," she says uncomfortably, and I become even more sure that praise is not something that she is used to.

I can see Alistair's face over her shoulder, and I can see that he does not feel quite so grateful for Morrigan's help. But I am glad to have met her, to have seen a mage that blossomed into her powers without templars looming over her, and I find myself smiling at her.

Slowly, she returns the smile, then looks back at the path ahead.

Alistair eyes me suspiciously, and I raise a challenging eyebrow in reply. Unwilling to start what could be an argument or just an awkward conversation, he shrugs and looks away.

The terrain begins to look familiar, and Morrigan announces, "Your camp is just over this hill."

"Thank you," I repeat, and my fingers brush lightly against her arm as I turn away from her, regretting that this is goodbye.


End file.
